


Holding On To Forever

by Slytheringirle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet, Blood, Bullets, Fluff, I swear it, If you are here for the fluff, M/M, Rallies, Self-Harm, Thoughts of Suicide, it gets angsty towards the end though, it started as fluff though, the so shall our love’, then you can stop reading at, yeah it gets dark, ‘as long as these wonders stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytheringirle/pseuds/Slytheringirle
Summary: “Midnight,’’ murmured Grantaire softly with a gentle smile. “Paris, Pont Alexandre III, the Eiffel tower…’’ His eyes took in the view as he stated the landmarks. “A kiss would seal our love, don’t you think?” His eyes found Enjolras, “as long these wonders stand, then so shall our love.’’OREnjolras and Grantaire go on a date.





	Holding On To Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaric/gifts).



> I want to thank my beta for looking over this piece of writing, though all mistakes are mine. And I repeat, if you’re here for the fluff then read till ‘as long as these wonders stand, then so shall our love’.  
> .  
> This is a fic for Jaric, which is part of our fanart/fanfic exchange. I’m incredibly sorry for the time it took me to write this.  
> .  
> And Jaric? That’s my attempt at bittersweet.

'GRANTAIRE! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" Cried Enjolras from the doorway. He loved his boyfriend to the moon and back, but if-

''Jesus, calm down. I’m done! '' said Grantaire, emerging from the bedroom down the hallway, fumbling with his coat. “You weren't that worked up about last week's conference,'' he muttered, letting his forest green coat fall around his knees as he walked towards the door, amusement unmistakable in his voice despite his annoyed tone.

Enjolras scowled. He was glad Grantaire took pleasure in irritating him, but if they didn’t leave in that very moment-  

_Calm_ _down_ , he told himself, taking a deep breath. You might as well ruin everything if you're going to act that way the whole night.  ''They couldn't start the meeting without me last week! So it didn’t matter if I was a couple of minutes late, not that I was. In fact, I was early. And if I had been late, then it would’ve totally been your fault. You're the one who insisted on making out before I went.''

The other man tilted his head to the side, smirking, his curls forming a devilish halo. ''Come on 'pollo, you can't blame me. If anything, it was your fault. You look so damn hot in a suit, how was I supposed to resist? You know my will power is non-existent.'' Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s chest, gently pushing him out of the doorway and into the corridor outside before turning to lock the door behind them.

He smiled fondly at the brunet, a warm sensation spreading through his chest. No matter how much time he spends with him, he'll never get bored or tired of him, the man was simply flawless. ''Well, looks like you’re gonna have to resist this time if you don’t want to miss the reservation. It was hard to get it and I might not be able to pull it off again. Hell, I’d have a better chance convincing Jehan to wear mundane clothing!’’

Grantaire rolled his eyes at that. ‘’You don’t, trust me.’’ He said, walking past Enjolras and pressing the elevator’s button. 

  - 

 ‘’What are you doing?’’ Asked Enjolras, stopping the car in the midst of the traffic and honking cars, leaning over to look at what Grantaire was drawing on his graphic tablet.

It was a sketch of the Amis at the Musain, inspired by a picture Bahorel had take two weeks ago. It was taken shortly after the meeting had ended and everyone was hanging around, laughing and joking while passing around drinks that, once upon a time, would’ve contained alcohol.

  Bossuet was sitting between Joly and Muschetta, head thrown back, laughing at something Joly was saying who using his cane to emphasise his point. Muschetta had her head tilted, smiling fondly at her boyfriends. On her right, chatting animatedly, were Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the latter practically on the other’s lap. Behind them, leaning against the wall, were Grantaire and Enjolras.

He smiled softly at the memory. He‘d been arguing with Grantaire about a recent political move -not that you’d be able to tell from the way they were looking at each other, each with a goofy smile on his face and a love sick gaze. Bahorel was the one who had took the picture, meaning he wasn’t in it. So Grantaire had taking the freedom of drawing him sitting beside Jehan at the corner of the table, in front of Éponine and Feuilly, the former of which was rolling her eyes at Marius and Cosette who were entangled in each other’s arms. 

Grantaire looked up at him, smiling shyly from behind his curls, a blush creeping us his face, and Enjolras felt his heart melt. They’d been together for over six months now, but Enjolras still swooned at the mere sight of the beautiful man seated beside him.

‘’Just a painting, nothing special.’’ Murmured Grantaire before returning to his work, eyes firmly locked on the screen. No matter how much Enjolras told Grantaire how stunning his art was, how unique an art style he had, he was still self-conscious about his work. Never mind the fact that he’s the best-selling artist in Paris.

‘’It’s beautiful, ’taire.’’ Said Enjolras, pressing a kiss against his boyfriend’s cheek. ‘’Are you planning on selling it?’’

Grantaire blushed. ‘’Ugh… No, I- ‘’

A honk from behind them startled Enjolras and he leaned back into his seat, straightening his position before pressing on the gas.

‘’I was thinking maybe we’d use it for the Christmas card?’’ Enjolras hummed in approval as they passed the traffic light they had been stuck in for the past five minutes. ‘’A nice change from the cliché ‘we’re one big happy family’.’’

Back when they were in college, the Amis had all lived in an apartment near campus and since none of them were particularly close with their families –they were all there on scholarships- they agreed on making their own Christmas card and from then on it became the norm. Sometimes they’d take a picture and at other times –more often than not- Grantaire paints them one.

Grantaire laughed at that. ‘’This still screams ‘we’re a big, happy family’, if you look for it.’’ He said as he closed the tablet and placed it in the glove compartment. ‘’So, what’s this restaurant you’re taking me to?’’ Asked Grantaire, turning in his seat –or as much as the seat belt would allow him- to face Enjolras, shyness gone.

Enjolras smirked. ‘’It’s a surprise.’’ He declared with a mysterious tone, causing Grantaire to roll his eyes. ‘’You do realize that there are only five fancy restaurants within a reasonable driving distance from here, right?’’

‘’Bold of you to assume I’m taking you to a fancy restaurant,’’ Teased Enjolras as he came to a halt. For a moment he thought there had been accident that caused the traffic, but then he spotted the traffic light in the distance, a red spot suspended mid-air. ‘’You can get a reservation at McDonald’s, you know?’’

‘’You better hope it’s a fancy restaurant or you’re going to get your sorry ass dumped,’’ answered Grantaire, a teasing smile playing on his face.

He pressed on the gas once again as the traffic light turned green. ‘’Oh, so you’re only going out with me for my money?’’ He asked, feigning hurt. He honked at the car in front of him, willing it to move faster before the traffic light turned red again –they were still pretty far from it.

“Maybe,” There was an unmistakable grin in Grantaire’s voice which was only confirmed when Enjolras turned to look at the black haired brunet beside him. “I’ve never had much money between spending it on booz and art supplies, so it’d be a nice change to have boyfriend who’s willing to spend his parents’ money on you, nevermind the fact that you hate his guts.”

“Gold digger,” muttered Enjolras as he mock-scowled, turning his attention back to the traffic light, and pretended to be irritated at Grantaire. It was a favourite past time of his; pretending to be angry at his boyfriend and having said boyfriend trying to get him to smile, even though he knows it’s a pretence.

“Aw come on, ‘pollo.” Teased Grantaire as he slid towards the edge of his seat so that he could see Enjolras. “I also go out with you for your looks, you know?”

Enjolras smiled despite himself. “Wish I could say the same for you, but it’s only for when you get famous after selling your masterpiece. Then I’d finally be able to get the people’s attention -it’ll be because I’m your boyfriend at the beginning but then they’ll realise what I an amazing person I am and how much potential I have- and turn them against the government.”

“Your parents will cut you off one day, just you wait. By then I’ll be rich and I won’t have to look down on hot, revolutionary peasants.”

He attempted to feign hurt again but only widened his smile and leaned over to Grantaire at the same time the brunet did, meeting him halfway. “I love you,” he murmured against his lips.

The other man just smiled and deepened the kiss.

-

Two traffic lights and ten stops later, Enjolras was finally parking the car in front of the restaurant. He didn’t want to give it to the valet;he might not mind spoiling Grantaire, but he still won’t allow himself the small luxuries while others were starving.

“We’re half an hour late,” commented Grantaire as Enjolras turned the car off.

“I realised,” he replied dryly. “Now get your ass out of the car because I’m not opening the door for you.”

“I’m not liking this date already,” Grantaire mocked as he got out of the car.

“There might be no date,” muttered Enjolras as they stepped onto the pavement and walked up to the restaurant.

“Hey,” Grantaire walked closer to him and intertwined their hands, squeezing his gently. “It’s okay if our table is taken, we can just sit at the public ones. And if these too are taken, then _Pont_ _Alexandre_ _III_ is just a couple of meters away and you could do with a walk over the Seine. After that, we can take get takeout from your favourite Chinese on the way back.”

Enjolras looked at his boyfriend sideways, a soft smile playing on his face. “The surprise is mine,” he said in an equally soft voice, tinged with sadness. “I should be the one coming up with plans.” But his voice was so soft that, even though a mere two inches were separating them, Grantaire couldn’t make out anything other than an incomprehensible whisper. Raising his voice, he said: “And freeze to death on the romantic night-time stroll?’’ He shook his head, ‘’I think I’ll pass.”

Grantaire laughed at that, a rich sound full of mirth and joy. “You really don’t have a choice,” he answered.

A warm breeze greeted them as they entered the restaurant and a middle-aged looking waiter in a tuxedo.

“Good Evening, Sirs.” He said, nodding at each of them in turn. Enjolras noticed his gaze linger on his and Grantaire’s intertwined hands, but chose to ignore it in favour of inquiring about their rendezvous. “Give me a second to check, Sir.” Said the waiter, turning to grab a notebook from behind the glass table behind him. “Julien Enjolras,” he muttered as he flipped through the pages, “Julien Enjolras... Ah yes, a reservation for two, scheduled for eight pm.-his face fell- I’m sorry,” the brown-haired man looked up at them, a slightly apologetic tone in his voice. “You are thirty five minutes late so your table has been given to someone else; we don’t have any other free tables. Do you wish to wait for a one to clear up?”

Enjolras shook his head, crestfallen. The restaurant was known for its quality late-night services, no one was likely to leave anytime soon. “No, thank you.” He said, letting go of Grantaire’s hand and burying both his hands in his pocket. He knew they were late, but he had still had some hope. “Come on,” he said, turning to Grantaire and nodding towards the door.

They walked out of the restaurant and down the side walk in silence. As they reached the parking lot, Grantaire placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “You’re not moping over this,” he placed his other hand on Enjolras’s other shoulder and steered him to the right where _Pont_ _Alexandre_ _III_ was. “We’re taking the romantic night-time stroll over the Seine - we can freeze to death together.”

He followed reluctantly, there was no arguing with Grantaire. “I’m sorry,” he apologised as they walked towards the river. “I know-“

“Hush,” interrupted Grantaire. “It’s not your fault, the traffic is to blame. And if it bothers you that much then we’ll make it up some other day.” They had stepped on the bridge and were walking down it, making their way to the centre. “Now shut up and enjoy the scenery,” continued Grantaire. “Along with me, of course. That’s what you’re getting of me for the next two weeks,” he said as he wrapped his arm around Enjolras’ waist, drawing him closer.

“Wait, what!?!” He exclaimed, stopping and trying to pry the brunet’s arm from around him, but Grantaire just held on tightly to him and continued walking.

“There is a two week art gallery held in Boston that starts on Friday. I’m going there on Thursday, but will be busy tomorrow, so you won’t see much of me.”

“And you only saw fit to tell me now?” He looked at Grantaire incredulously as they walked, his gaze fixed the brunet who was staring firmly ahead.

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you with the information, especially since there was high chance my admission request would be rejected. The conformation only came in this morning.”

He rested his against the other man’s shoulder as they walked, enjoying the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “Looks like I’m gonna have to find time to text and Skype somebody,” he sighed, feigning annoyance.

Grantaire tightened his hold on him and pressed a kiss on his head. “You better,” he murmured against his head and steered them towards the bridge’s the railing. “Or else you’ll be back in the market.”

Enjolras smiled softly and draped an arm over Grantaire’s shoulder; wisely choosing to ignore the light-hearted comment.

A serene silence settled over them as they stood under the shining moon, bathing in its soft glow. Accompanied with the twinkling water of the Seine, the scene looked like a stereotypical romantic Paris night, and somehow, Enjolras found out that he didn’t mind. He was with Grantaire after all. They stood there as minutes faded into hours; lost in the night and each other’s presence, murmuring sweet nothings.

‘’You set the night on fire,’’ said Grantaire distantly after a lengthy silence, his eyes fixed on the on the glinting water.

Enjolras shook his head against the brunet’s shoulder with a soft smile. ‘’That’s your job, Dionysus.’’ He said gently, his words echoing through the night. ‘’I shine wherever the Earth wishes me to, but you? You're forever burning.’’

He felt Grantaire shake against him with silent laughter, causing him to pull back.

‘’What’s so funny?’’ He asked as he took a few steps back, brows furrowed. Grantaire’s laughter turned audible as he took hold of the railing for support, tears of mirth rolling down his face.

‘’Wha-’’

‘’I was quoting Blue Moon by Alexander Ashford,’’ Said Grantaire after he had calmed down, smirking with his head tilted sideways. ‘’Not everything’s about you, blondie.’’ Enjolras felt the heat rushing to his cheeks.

‘’Oh, uh, I-I thought-’’ Grantaire barked a laugh and reached out to take a hold of Enjolras’s arm, drawing him closer. ‘’Apollo stuttering,’’ he grinned, turning Enjolras so that his back was facing him and placing an arm around his waist once again. ‘’Now that’s something.’’ He said, kissing him on the cheek.

Enjolras nuzzled against his boyfriend, who was pressed against the railing, and placed his hands on the arm embracing him. ‘’Apollo needs his energy,’’ he said, gazing at the looming Eiffel tower, his tone teasing, that had sprung into his field of vision. ‘’What was supposed to fuel him when his other half’s attention was elsewhere?’’

‘’Dionysus feeds off Apollo, you idiot. The sun fuels the moon, not the other way round.’’

Enjolras rolled his eyes. ‘’Said the artist.’’

‘’Artist, not poet,’’ Grantaire shot back. They continued their bickering, each firing sarcastic retorts at the other under the twinkling night sky until a chime rang through the night. Grantaire took hold of his shoulders and turned him around, pressing him against the railway as he kissed him.

‘’What was that for?’’ He asked, slightly breathless, after they pulled back.

‘’Midnight,’’ murmured Grantaire softly with a gentle smile. ‘’Paris, _Pont_ _Alexandre_ _III_ , the Eiffel tower…’’ His eyes took in the view as he stated the landmarks. ‘’A kiss would seal our love, don’t you think?” His eyes found Enjolras, ‘’as long these wonders stand, then so shall our love.’’

-

It has been two years since Grantaire had passed away. Enjolras had woken up one morning to cold, stiff arms surrounding him. The doctors has said it was an internal bleeding, though they couldn’t figure out what caused it.

He’d carried on, lead rallies, partied with his friends and even helped plan Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s wedding. Had also joined the rest of the Amis in congratulating the grooms before they left to catch their plane to Thailand, wishing them a happy honeymoon.

But that was all a pretence.

Every night, he cried himself to sleep, blaming himself over what had happened. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve know that it was all too good to last. Why Grantaire? If they weren’t meant to last then why didn’t he die, why R? It could’ve easily been him and Grantaire that were getting married, planning their honeymoon, and starring all gooey eyed at each other. They’d often talked about getting married and growing old together; had even considered adopting a child or two… Why him?

Everyday feels like a battle; The world vs. Him. He has to smile at everyone joke around when necessary, as though everything was alright. But how could it be when he was half a man? When he was barely alive? Crying himself to sleep had felt like enough of a punishment for living -until it didn’t.

One night, after he’d gone through his routinely thirty minute cry he hadn’t been able to drift into his usual nightmarish sleep; the other side of the bed seemed incredibly empty and had stretched on forever. Unable to bear it anymore, he had gotten out of bed and wandered the apartment in search of an outlet for his pain other than the tears. He’d paced the apartment twice, wishing for a bottle of wine or an equally dulling beverage, but it was in vain.

Just as he was about to give up and go back to bed, a glint from the bathroom had caught his eye. Entering the bathroom, he found a razor leaning against the mirror; never had anything looked more beautiful and inviting.

Without a warning he saw his hand reach out to take the razor and before his brain could process what was happening, the razor was sliding over his wrist and up his arm, slicing the flesh apart to reveal an oozing red fluid that provided a much needed relief. Grantaire had always said red looked good on him.

For a while, this became his outlet along with the tears, of course. But as the days turned into weeks, which in turn turned into months, the cuts became less of a relief and more a routine. He couldn’t go a day without cutting himself, even though it didn’t bring any relief; it was like an addiction. As he stood and watched the blood drip down his arm and onto the floor like a waterfall, a hurricane broke inside him. Images of Grantaire laughing and joking around, of making out with Grantaire, of their I love you flashed before his eyes and he felt as though someone stabbed him in the heart, stabbed him with the knife of recollection. He wanted to stand on a mountain peak and cry his heart out, to scream until his throat was dry and soar, but something told him that that wasn’t enough. The pain will always be back, will always be there, and to escape it, he had to leave realm it existed in. Had to end it all.

‘ _One_ _more_ _week_ ,’ he promised himself. ’ _Just sort your business, write your will, and make it clear that it’s no one’s fault. One more week.’_

And so he did. The next morning he went to a lawyer and got everything sorted out, then he proceeded to hang out with his friends, gave them more attention and even got drunk once or twice; but he never forgot Grantaire. How can he forget the missing half of his heart?

On the seventh day, the last day, the awaited day, there was a protest he’d planned a month ago. He attended the protest as planned and gave a speech, not wanting anything to look suspicious lest anyone tried to interfere. Halfway through the speech, a gun went off in the middle of the crowd, and hell broke loose.

Everyone ran for their lives, taking off in every direction and running over others in the process. Combeferre, who was standing guard near him, grabbed his arm the same time a second bullet went off, finding a home in his chest. There was a hot, burning sensation as blood pooled from behind the bullet and soaked his shirt. He fell to the ground in short gasps of pain, bringing Combeferre down with him on the makeshift stage.

“Enjolras!” Cried Combeferre, panic filling his voice, as he loomed over him. Joly suddenly appeared from behind him -poker face on- with a cloth in hand. He knelt beside Enjolras and wrapped the cloth around the burning wound as a makeshift bandage. The pain was everywhere now, as though the bullet had seeped into his body, and yet, he was grateful. He won’t have to take his own life at the end.

“Hold on,” said Combeferre from above as he took out his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“Combeferre,” said Joly, “can you hold this?” He nodded to the now soaked cloth. “I need to get some supplies from the car, I won’t be long.”

“Please,” said Combeferre, crouching down beside him. Joly nodded and left, not wasting any time.

Combeferre pressed his hand against the wound in the vain hope of slowing the bleeding while dialling the emergency service’s number. Just as he was about to press call, Enjolras reached out and took the phone.

“Don’t,” he croaked through the pain. “Just let it be, please.” “Enjolras, what are you talking about?” Hissed Combeferre as he reached out for the phone. Enjolras tightened his hold on it. “I know the pain seems unbearable now, but it won’t last. I promise.”

He shook his head, smiling through the pain. “I know,” he whispered. “I know the paint won’t last.” His smile widened and so did the pain. “I’ll see him soon, Ferre.” His voice turned hoarse. “It’s been two years, but God, it feels like a decade has passed since-“

A strange feeling washed over him swiftly, washing the pain away with it, leaving him with a disconnected sensation. He heard a clatter against wood in the midst of the chaos surrounding them. Looking down he saw Combeferre’s phone lying on the makeshift stage, his own hand mere millimetres away from it. He suddenly got the urge to stand up, so he propped himself on his elbows and-

And saw a set of arms identical to his, if only slightly transparent, double from the motionless ones lying on the stage -he was dead. Jumping to his feet, he quickly took in the scene around him. Combeferre was hunched over his body, shoulders shaking with sobs he couldn’t now hear, Joly was beside him, his arms wrapped around the other man’s shoulder as his own tears rolled down his cheeks.

From behind them, Enjolras could see Courfeyrac and the rest of the Amis making their way to the weeping men and corpse. Some were nursing broken arms and twisted wrists while others were merely scratched. He felt an invisible hand tighten around his heart -how was it possible to feel pain in death?-, he didn’t want to see his friends crying and screaming over his body, didn’t want to see Jehan shake in disbelief or Bahorel telling him it isn’t funny, even though Enjolras never plays such tricks on them.

He tore his eyes away from the scene and shut the tight as he turned on his heels. God and to think that he’d considered putting his friend through that pain deliberately… Thank God he can’t hear their cries… Had it been like that with Grantaire? Had he seen Enjolras shake him in disbelief, beginning him to wake up, to talk to him?

As though suddenly reminded, he opened his eyes. Weren’t you see supposed to meet your loved ones in the afterlife? If so, shouldn’t Grantaire be- There, in front of him, stood a partially transparent figure with ocean-blue eyes drowned in unshed tears and dark curls framing his smiling face -Grantaire.

“Hey,” Breathed Grantaire, the tears making their way down his face, smile unwavering. Enjolras threw himself at the man in front of him and wrapped his arms around him tightly, burying his face in his neck.

He distantly registered the brunet mirroring his actions and felt a wetness against this neck, his thoughts being too loud to allow room for anything else. Grantaire. This was Grantaire in his arms, this was Grantaire who was embracing him. Grantaire. How could a name be so beautiful? And the man it answered to even more?

“Hey,” he whispered back through a tight voice as he inhaled the brunet’s scent; the same old mixture of paint and cigarettes. He felt an ache in his heart, a nostalgia for the past and tightened his hold on Grantaire, feeling a prickling sensation behind his eyes followed by a burn that opened the dam holding back his tears.

“I’ve missed you,” he sobbed into the man’s shoulder, “don’t you dare leave me again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Grantaire whispered back, his tone betraying a hint of a tear, as he pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s cheek.

“You’re stuck with me forever now.” He smiled despite his tears as he saw the world fade into darkness around them, holding on to an eternity of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah.... I’m not sorry. So what did you think? Don’t forget the kudos and comments! I appreciate them, not matter what.
> 
>  
> 
> And come say hi on tumblr! (@enjoltaire-is-canon)


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